


Hetkeksi

by Neuqe



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, they are both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuqe/pseuds/Neuqe
Summary: Alex is a rich noble who comes up with ridiculous reasons to see their new court healer, Henry





	Hetkeksi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tedddylupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tedddylupin/gifts).

> So the setting of this fic tries very hard to be fantasy, but just to clarify it's "imagine late 19th century and magic" type of fantasy. I had so much fun writing this, even if this got a little bit out of hand, and I hope you like it!

Alex would like to pace around his room to ease his nerves, but he is not sure if he can stand with his injured leg and he doesn’t want to bleed all over his room. It would tacky at best and gross at worst.

The pain in his shin is agonizing, but all he is able to think about is the lecture he is going to receive because he managed to get himself injured, again and possibly unnecessarily. He could probably recite the entire lecture from word to word by now.

It always starts by exaggerating how stupid risks he takes and how frequently. His behaviour is not suitable for noble people and that he is putting his family name into shame. A disgrace to the court and he is lucky that he is not living in the palace. Unpredictability is stupid and he should start taking things seriously and grow up.

One of the court’s healers and close family friend, Rafael Luna, has mastered the death glare while he gives him this repetitive lecture with his best I’m-disappointed-in-you voice. 

Alex isn’t really sure how he is supposed to break to him that June kind of accidently stabbed him to the shin with a sword.

It’s not going to be an easy conversation and as Alex is agonizing over it, someone knocks to his door.

He is awkwardly lying on his way too huge bed, keeping his injured leg up with the help of two big pillows, and he tries to prop himself up, but there is no point. Instead, he just yells “come in.”

He is a bit confused because Luna never knocks. He just storms into his room and looks at him as if he were an idiot.

The door opens slowly, but it isn’t Luna. A man Alex has never seen stands in the doorway, but he is carrying the old leather healer’s bag Luna always has with him when he comes to patch him up. He is even wearing the cobalt blue jacket healers usually wear.

The man is young, probably around his age, and he does the courtesy nod towards him. He is tall and lanky, but his posture is rigid, and he carries himself with ease. He looks elegant, even though his blonde hair is like a curly fluffy cloud above his head. His eyes are blue, but not the impossible kind. They are not piercing, but almost blue-grey and above all, kind.

Shortly said, he is handsome as hell.

“Who are you?” Alex asks, lifting his head from the pillow to see the stranger better.

“The court appointed healer, sir,” he answers, and he has a weird kind of sophisticated accent.

“Oh, what happened to Luna?”

“He got transferred to the palace, sir,” the stranger healer says, as he walks towards his bed.

“He’s really moving up the career ladder, then,” Alex mutters as he shifts on his bed again. He feels little uncomfortable lying limp on his own bed, bleeding, when the hot stranger is looking at him. He usually likes to make a better first impression.

He and his family live in the capital city of the kingdom, but they are lucky enough not to residence in the huge palace with the royal family, but at their own mansion in the north side of the city. He guesses they are technically royals, the prince is a third cousin or something. But they are not that close, and he likes that they have their privacy, it makes things feel almost normal. Or as normal as they possibly can be.

His mother is making a career in administration and bureaucracy, and she is a big deal in her own right. As is his father, even though he no longer lives with them, but on the other side of the land. Her sister is as brilliant as their parents and only now getting into the newspaper business, which frankly is less than traditional choice for a noble woman, but June has always made her own path, and no one has dared to tell her to do something else.

He doesn’t specifically know what he would like to do with his life. He feels a little adrift. He wants to help people, he knows that much, but he isn’t sure _how_ he could do it.

“Something like that, sir.”

He is already standing next to his bed, and looking at him with a peculiar expression. Alex is looking straight up at him, into his beautiful eyes, and somehow, he forgets his stab wound for a short moment.

“What’s your name?” He asks, instead of telling about the injury.

“Henry, my lord.”

“Henry,” Alex repeats softly, as if he was trying out his name on his tongue. It seems to roll of perfectly. As if his name was made to say by him, but then again, that might be just the potential blood loss talking. “Henry, what do you know about stab wounds?”

“Quite a lot, in fact.”

Alex grins at him. “Good because I’ve been stabbed. By accident. But still, the wound is there,” he says, pointing vaguely at his left leg.

Henry’s eyes dart between his pants that are soaked by blood now, even though there is a very primitive cloth bandage over the wound, and the floor. There might be some blood stains, too.

“I tried to avoid that,” Alex clarifies, pointing at the floor. He doesn’t want Henry thinking that he is bleeding on the floor on purpose like some sort of idiot.

“I can see that,” he replies calmly. “I need you to undress your trousers, sir.”

A slow grin spreads on Alex’s face as he tries to get up. “I usually buy dinner before people ask me to do that.”

Henry looks at him as if he were the biggest idiot he has ever met. Alex guesses it could be possible. He also notices that the tips of Henry’s ears are turning slightly pink, even if his face is completely composed.

He gently helps him up and he even helps him undress the trousers. He folds them neatly, even though they are stained and soaked, and places them into his laundry bin. It feels strangely intimate, even though he is only doing his job, very effectively.

Alex lies on his stomach, because it gives a better angle for Henry to examine the wound. He carefully removes the makeshift bandage June had hastily wrapped. He has crouched next to the bed, and is leaning to it, as he gently pokes the skin around the wound. It sends spikes of pain through his leg, but he is clenching his teeth and trying to ignore it.

“What happened?”

He chuckles, half against the pillow. “My sister and I had a practise sword fight and I got distracted, and the pointy end of the sword found my poor leg.”

Sword fighting isn’t something they would need to be doing. Neither one of them is going to the army and the kingdom hasn’t been in war in decades. It’s just fun and they have done it ever since both of them were old enough not to accidently impale themselves while holding a sword. What else would two children with too much energy living in a huge mansion do for fun?

“I have a sister and brother, and I do want to, sometimes, accidently, stab my brother to the leg,” Henry murmurs quietly as he wipes the wound clean with something that stings unpleasantly.

It seems like an off-hand comment, but Alex considers it something precious that he wants to grab with both hands. A small bit of information about him, that not everyone knows. He doesn’t want to forget it.

“What about the sister?”

“Bea is a delight,” he tells him simply, and soon he appears next to his face, still squatting next to the bed. “Unfortunately, I need to stitch it, sir. It will hurt.”

Alex nods a little defeatedly. It’s not the first time he has gotten stiches and he has never enjoyed the process of getting them. He shudders just at the thought of it.

Henry looks almost sympathetic before he retrieves something from his medical bag. He shows him a small vial full of dark green liquid. He unscrews the cork and hands it to him. “It should help with the pain,” he explains.

Alex takes it and drinks it without a question. Luna never gave him pain medicine for the stitches. The liquid tastes bitter and vaguely of basilica and mint.

Henry disappears to the other end of the bed again. It sort of sounds as if he was muttering softly, under his breath something. His leg feels warm, but it is not an uncomfortable sensation.

He is aware that he is stitching the wound, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he expected. It is not as awful as he remembered, and it is over a lot more quickly than he thought.

“All done, sir,” Henry announces as he wraps last of the bandages around his shin. The pain is almost gone.

Alex turns around in the bed and sits up. “That sucked a lot less than I thought it would suck,” he tells him, honestly, as he runs his fingers over the fabric of the bandages, “you must have magic hands or something.”

Something flashes in his eyes, but it is gone so quickly that Alex is almost sure he imagined it. “I take that as a compliment, sir.”

He is already gathering his supplies. “You shouldn’t do anything that could pull of the stitches and keep it as dry as possible for a few days. Someone will come to remove them in a week.”

Alex ruffles his hand through his own hair and gives Henry the sincerest smile he possibly can. “Thank you.”

Henry is already at the door, resting his hand on the brass knob, when he stops and looks over his shoulder. “Perhaps also avoid the pointy ends of swords, sir,” he says, with a small smile, before disappearing into the corridor.

Alex is left alone to chuckle, but he feels inexplicably happy, as if something was igniting in his chest.

***

It has been a week since Henry healed his leg and he has not been able to stop thinking about him. It’s ridiculous really. He makes his way into his thoughts at every possible opportunity, when he is idle and in the middle of the work.

He has seen him in his dreams too, but it is not something he would be ready to admit to another soul yet. It’s dumb and ridiculous that he might be already harbouring some sort of shallow crush on a person whose last name he doesn’t even know. A person who he has only met once for about twenty minutes. A person who most likely was nice to him because it was a part of his job.

He wouldn’t even go as far as calling it a crush. Yet. He merely thinks he is attractive, and he is fascinated by him, but that doesn’t mean anything.

His ridiculousness takes new levels when there is an incident at the stable. One of the horses bolts as he gets scared of a loud bang and he escapes the pen, running through the corridors of the stable and the yard unpredictably.

People are shouting and running, which is not helping the horse to calm down. It is only running back and forth in panic and probably frustration. Alex spots the stable dog, a small and chubby mixed breed dog called Sausage, directly in the path of the running horse and he scopes it quickly in his arms.

Yet, he is not as quick or graceful as he thinks is. The horse doesn’t run over him, he still collides with the horse and it knocks him off his feet into the dirt and sand. He falls spectacularly face first and he only feels the excruciating pain in his left shoulder. Yet, his first coherent thought is that maybe now he sees Henry again.

***

He does see him again.

Someone calls for a healer after he manages to return to the house. He appears to his room again, fifteen minutes later, politely knocking to the door, before entering. This time though, he doesn’t stand next to the door, but walks straight up to his bed. He places his medic bag to the nearby table.

“Henry,” Alex says as a greeting and tries to keep his voice light, but in reality, he is in agony. “Henry, please tell me you know something about shoulder injuries.”

“Enough to heal one, sir,” he says, patiently and politely. He kneels next to the bed, and takes his hand into his little awkwardly. He pulls it forward. “Does this hurt?”

Alex only manages to whimper as a response, but he likes to think that it is a graceful whimper.

“Alright,” he murmurs softly, as he lets go of his hand. “Are you able to move it?”

He tries to swing his arm slowly. He can move it a little, but any big movement makes it feels as if someone was ripping his arm off. “Not really,” he concludes.

Henry nods, looking deeply focused. A small wrinkle appears between his eyebrows as he seems to consider his diagnosis or treatment. It only makes him look more adorable. “May I ask what happened?”

“A horse ran into me,” he explains, making it sound like it was the most natural explanation. “I was saving a dog, the one that lives in the stables. He’s cute but he has no self-preservation instincts.”

“It is dislocated,” Henry deduces, completely ignoring the dog comment and gracefully gets up from the floor. He reaches for his bag and gives one of those small vials of green liquid again.

Alex grimaces as he takes it with his good hand. “It is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

His face softens a little. “I’m afraid so, sir.”

Alex’s eyes dart between the vial and Henry. “How much it will hurt? Have you ever had your shoulder dislocated?”

His face looks a little uncomfortable. “It will—hurt. But the drug should make the pain duller,” he unscrews the cork for him, “and no. I haven’t been very prone to accidents.”

“Unlike me, you mean,” Alex deadpans, before he drinks the vial empty with one big sip.

“I met you only a week ago, it’s too early to make that kind of assumptions,” Henry says, taking the empty vial from him, but his voice is coloured by amusement.

Henry positions himself behind him, so that he is half-leaning to the bed, with his other foot. Alex knows, rationally, that this is a very serious and professional medical procure, but Henry is so infuriatingly close to him and he can feel his breath against his neck, and it makes something flutter in his stomach.

He places his hand firmly on the hurt shoulder and the other on his bicep. “I do apologize,” he murmurs, almost into his ear.

Before Alex has a chance to reply, Henry pulls his arm downwards in a weird angle and an excruciating pain fills his mind. A sharp but short scream escapes his throat involuntarily before it turns into a whimper again. The pain is almost gone, and his shoulder feels nearly normal again.

“Better?” Henry asks, as he stands up and leaves the bed.

“Yes, thank you,” he breathes out, as he tries to move his hand again. The pain isn’t sharp or agonizing any longer, but the shoulder still feels a little stiff.

“Good,” he says and gives him a tiniest of smiles before reaching to his bag. He pulls a roll of gauze and starts to unroll it. “You shouldn’t use it too much for few days. Let it heal. I’m going to put it on an arm sling, just in case,” he adds, giving him a pointed look, as if he didn’t expect him to let it be, without a physical restraint.

Alex rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest when he wraps the gauze around his arm and neck. His breathe also very definitely doesn’t hitch when Henry leans closer to tie the knot of the gauze behind his neck.

There are few moments of awkward silence, or maybe he just imagines it, before he picks up the bag. But even after that, he seems to linger. As if he was reluctant to leave.

“How is the leg?” He asks, all politely. His eyes dart to his legs, before looking at him in the eyes again.

“Good, good, no problems with that,” Alex replies without missing a beat. He has been a little surprised how quickly the wound healed. It is merely a bit reddish anymore and it seems like the scar will also be extremely thin. “You know how to do your job,” he adds, sounding gentler than he intended.

A genuine and bright smile appears on Henry’s face, but he desperately tries to bite it down. “Thank you, sir.”

He is already heading for the door, when Alex calls out after him. “Maybe next time we see in better circumstances?”

His smile becomes crooked. “Possibly.”

***

Alex would like to everyone to know, for his defence, that he is not planning to get injured. It just happens. The circumstances are usually not on his side and he has the worst luck. His sister would describe him as a hot mess with too much energy.

So, when Alex walks straight into a mirror as it is moved by two servants from one room to another, and it shatters into a million pieces, he cannot say he would be surprised.

It’s not even anyone’s fault. He just turned around the corner, admittedly not looking where he was going, and boom, the mirror was right behind the corner.

He tries to help to clean the shattered pieces, but he is told immediately to go away and seek a healer. He wants to argue that he is completely fine, no need to see a healer, even if he wanted to see one specific one, but then he feels something warm and wet drip down his cheek and his best educated guess is that it is blood.

He looks like a bloody mess, no pun intended, when he gets back to his room. There are at least five bigger cuts on his cheeks, chin and forehead and they are all slowly bleeding. He tries to press a cloth towel against them to stop the bleeding, but it doesn’t help anything. It only smudges the blood on his skin, making it look way worse than it is.

So, there he is again. On his bed, waiting for Henry to arrive, a third time in a month. It has to be some kind of a new record. But then again, even though he is annoyed by his luck, he doesn’t exactly mind seeing Henry again.

Henry arrives quite quickly, he isn’t sure what kind of horror story version he was told, but when he sees him, he mutters something under his breath and it suspiciously sounds like ‘dear God’.

“Hi,” Alex says, more cheerfully than necessary.

“I’m glad to see that at least all your limbs are still intact, sir,” he says, as some sort of a greeting, as he walks closer.

“So far,” he says, “it’s still early.”

Henry drops his bag to the floor, and only hums as a response as he examines his wounds. He looks so focused and grave that it is almost hilarious. Alex tries to think that instead of thinking how close he is to him, and how he can mostly definitely feel his soft breath against his face.

Alex is certain his heart stops when he gently grabs his chin with his fingers and moves his face to a slightly different angle.

His heart definitely starts racing again when he actually looks him in the eyes. “Do I want to know how this happened?”

Alex attempts to grin, but it causes drops of blood run down his cheek. “I walked into a mirror.”

Henry blinks slowly, his expression full of confusion, but still, he manages to look not surprised.

“It wasn’t on the wall,” he specifies, “they were moving it from one room to another.”

“Obviously that makes more sense, sir,” he says, seemingly serious, but he sounds a little amused. Alex likes to think that it is a good sign.

Henry disappears into the washroom for a moment and comes back with a dripping wet cloth. He half-crouches down, and while being in a very uncomfortable looking position, he starts to wipe the blood away from his face with the cloth.

“I know how to wash my face,” he tries to say, but it comes out a little muffled because the cloth is right in front of his mouth.

“Is that why your face is covered with dried blood stains?” He shoots back, almost immediately and he sounds more informal than he has ever heard before, and there is something wild in his eyes, maybe borderline panic. “Sir,” he adds, as if it would help.

Alex merely groans. “Call me Alex, please? The whole sir and my lordship and formality of it all makes me uncomfortable,” he says, mostly against the cloth.

It has made him uneasy as long as he can remember. He has done nothing to earn his title, only been born into a right family, and it just makes things always stiff and awkward. Maybe if had worked for it and done something worthy and worth of respecting, he could deal it with more easily.

“It doesn’t feel right, sir,” Henry says, stubbornly, while sounding polite and pleasing. Alex kind of hates it. He wants to hear his real voice, the one he just used, and not just some front he uses at work.

“That doesn’t feel right, either,” Alex argues, swatting the cloth away from his face, even though he knows he is not ready yet. “Being uncomfortable interferes with my healing process,” he suggests.

“That is not a thing, sir.”

“Maybe so,” he mutters, mouth full of cloth again, and he is starting to suspect that Henry is trying to keep him quiet with that damn piece of fabric. “But really. We’re about the same age, you might be even older than I am, there’s no need for formal addressing.”

Henry wipes his forehead now. “I’m twenty-three, sir.”

He glares at him. “You’re doing this on purpose now,” he accuses as he uses ‘sir’ as if it was a comma. “If you don’t stop it, I’ll start calling you sir instead of your first name.”

Henry, being sly and all, only hums as a response, and moves to clean the stains from his cheeks.

Alex sighs. If nothing else works, he guesses he has to restore to his final plan; honesty. He makes a point of looking him straight into the eyes, too. “It isn’t just you. It always makes me feel weird and out-of-place. My last name is the only reason why you even feel the need to call me or anyone else you don’t truly respect a sir and I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

It’s a bit more honest than he planned to say. He has always complained about the formality to June, Luna and her mother, but he cannot remember the last time he would have shared something like that with someone who wasn’t family.

Henry looks at him for a moment, before straightening up. “Who says I do not respect you?” He asks, but it sort of sounds rhetorical. He takes the cloth to the laundry bin and disappears into the washroom again.

Alex stares at the floor. “I don’t know. I feel like I’d be at least a little bitter if a certain group of people would have immense wealth while others didn’t and I’d have to bow down to them while they are not capable of even washing their faces by themselves.”

Henry comes back, with a smaller cloth, and sits down at the edge of the bed. He takes a small bottle full of clear fluid from his bag and pours most of it into the cloth. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “Cannot I be bitter and respectful?”

Alex shrugs. “You could, but it doesn’t seem really plausible. It would be closer to an oxymoron.”

“I will check that there are no fragments of the mirror in the wounds and this should help with the bleeding,” he says gently, “and it might sting a little.”

Alex moves head, so that he sees the forehead cut better. He gently presses the small and soft cloth against the wound, but it still tingles unpleasantly.

“That is quite radical thinking coming from a noble person,” Henry says, casually, returning to their discussion, but he doesn’t sound judgemental or sarcastic. Alex likes to think he sounds a bit impressed.

“I’ve never been too good at it. There have been more complaints than compliments, really.”

Henry huffs, as he presses the skin around the larger cut on his left cheek. “What are you good at then?” His voice is soft and quiet, and it seems it is no longer the official court healer’s voice, but Henry’s genuine voice.

The question throws him off a little. It isn’t a complicated question; it is a simple one. But it is still difficult because it is honest and genuinely curious one. It is even more difficult because he doesn’t have a quick answer for it.

He knows he is good at plenty of things, but he is not sure what of those can actually be considered as skills. Talking is definitely one of those things. He knows he can keep a decent speech and he actually enjoys debating, and he is always talking. It comes as easily as breathing to him.

“I don’t know? Annoying people? Making lists? Talking? Getting myself hurt? That is at least what your precursor said.”

A ghost of a smile appears on Henry’s lips. “I am convinced you’re good at something else, too,” he says, and his voice is warm and full of conviction, and it sort of makes him feel better.

“What are you good at?” Alex asks, suddenly, but still being genuinely interested in the answer. “Other than taking care of whiny nobles?”

Henry seems to think about it for a moment. “Medicine and I play piano a little,” he replies eventually, as he removes the cloth from his chin. “All done.”

“Really?” Alex asks, perplexed by the quickness of it. He pokes one of the wounds and it hurts.

Henry patiently grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away from his face. He looks only slightly exasperated. “Touching them will not do any good for the healing process. Try to keep them clean because the other option is to cover your whole head with bandages.”

“Duly noted,” he says, “how bad does it look?”

His face feels warm and oddly tingling and both of these sensations might have something to do with the cuts or Henry or both.

His gaze lands on his forehead and cheek, and he looks as if he needs to consider his answer.

“Not bad. They are red, but they should heal soon-ish,” he concludes and reaches for the handles of his bag and lifts it to his lap.

“Thank you,” he says gently, but Henry is already standing up.

He nods again, but he looks at him strangely. “You’re welcome, Alex,” he says, with perfectly composed expression and voice before he turns around gracefully and heads for the door.

His voice is so even and polite that he almost misses the fact that he used his first name. But only almost. The realisation fills him with a child-like glee, and he doesn’t even feel ridiculous for it.

“I consider this as a win,” Alex shouts happily after him, even though Henry has already disappeared, and the door closes behind him softly.

***

Alex feels horrible. It is the first thought he has as soon as he wakes up and it is the only thing he is able to think about.

He blinks his eyes slowly, but his eye lids feel heavy as if he hadn’t opened his eyes in days. The wave of nausea hits him quick and hard, and he is unable to shake it off. Everything seems to wallow, even though he is lying completely still in his own bed.

He tries to focus on the stone ceiling of his room. The one he has stared on countless sleepless nights while tossing and turning. He knows every crack and stain on it, but still he isn’t able to keep his thoughts on it. He is almost half-convinced that there is something wrong with his sight, too. The room is dark, but everything seems blurry, as if there were mist in his room.

His memory seems hazy, too, and he cannot remember going to sleep, which makes him a lot more anxious than he is willing to admit. He tries to move, but it only makes the nausea worse.

“Oh, you’re awake,” gentle voice states, sounding slightly surprised, and soon he sees Henry’s face for a short moment, before he disappears somewhere again.

Alex thinks that it would be entirely possible that this is some sort of a fever dream or hallucination because it is the only sensible explanation for why Henry is in his chambers in the middle of the night. The pain and nausea feel real, though.

There are sounds of footsteps and room becomes slightly brighter, as few candles illuminate the room and cast long and narrow shadows on the walls. Henry sits on the bed again, placing one of the candles on the adjacent table, and immediately places his hand against his forehead. The furrow appears between his eyebrows, again, as if he was worried.

“Welcome back among the living,” he mutters, with a tiny smile, as he pulls his hand back.

“What?” Alex manages to say, but his voice is hoarse and weak.

“How much do you remember?” Henry asks, still intensively staring at him.

Alex decides to shake his head, because it feels easier than talking, but it makes his whole world swing from one side to another.

“You had fever. Probably influenza,” he explains quietly, but quickly. “It has been three days.”

He nods, trying to take in the information. He had heard about the especially strong and difficult cases of influenza all over the land, latest in the capital city. Many cases of death had been reported. He swallows and returns his stare in the almost darkness. He guesses it is a small miracle he is still alive.

As he stares at Henry, he notices that he looks different. His eyes are still full of kindness, but they are reddish and misty, as if he had not slept properly. The dark shadows under his eyes indicate similar story. His hair isn’t as fluffy as it usually is, now it’s more tousled. He is wearing a casual, loose, white shirt, instead of the cobalt blue healer’s jacket he usually has.

“Have--,” he tries to say, but he only manages to make a high-pitched sound followed by odd rhonchus. It’s frustrating.

“You should avoid speaking if it hurts,” he advices, probably with good reason.

Yet, Alex furiously shakes his head. He has questions, a lot of them, and extremely important things he wants to say. Being unable to speak doesn’t suit him well, he can tell that much already.

Henry sighs, but it is in defeat. He turns around quickly and gives him a mug full of cold water. He helps him into more upright position in his bed, propped up by pillows and wall, so that he won’t choke on the water.

Dying by choking after surviving hazardous influenza would be just ridiculous and tragic and something that could very well happen to him.

He drinks the mug empty earnestly, and he thinks it makes him feel a bit better. More human, at least, now that his tongue is no longer stuck on his palate because of thirst.

“Have you--,” he tries again, and now they already sound like comprehensible words, but it takes incredible amount of effort to say just that and he sort of gives up. He huffs in annoyance.

Henry looks exasperated, probably by his stubbornness, but then again, he always looks at least slightly exasperated. He gets up from the bed and returns with a stack of yellowish paper and pencil. He takes the mug away from him, but it gives the writing supplies to him. “If you must.”

Alex quickly writes the question that popped into his mind as the first thing. He holds the paper so that Henry is able to read it.

_Have you been here the whole time??_

Henry’s gaze darts between the paper and Alex, as if he had regrets about giving him the chance to communicate.

“Yes, almost,” he replies, simply. “Your sister asked me to come.”

It is not something he expected to hear. He obviously knows that June would do anything to help him if he needed it, but they might go days without seeing each other because of her busy schedule, so it seems a bit odd if she was the one to discover he was bedridden with illness.

It is easier to focus on that, than think about the fluttering feeling in his ribcage that spreads as he thinks that Henry stayed by his side. Logically, he knows it is just because of his duty to his profession, but still, it’s a nice thought.

His next question is purely out of curiosity.

_You met June?_

Henry lets out a huff that sounds suspiciously lot like laugh, as he reads his question. “I did. She was very charming, albeit extremely concerned about you. She looks a lot like you.”

Alex likes that description of her, and the thought of June and Henry meeting doesn’t help the fluttering. He looks down to the paper stack, trying to remember what else he wanted to ask, but nausea is interfering his concentrating.

_Why didn’t I die?_

Certain hollowness appears in his eyes for a moment, but it doesn’t linger long. Instead, he seems sorrow, and his whole demeanour looks defeated.

Alex takes the paper back and hastily adds. _Not that I’d have wanted to die, I’m very grateful I didn’t, I simply thought influenza was practically death sentence._

“Most do die, but not all,” Henry confirms, his voice suddenly sounding weak. “I wish I could explain why you didn’t die. Maybe we just caught the illness in early stage.”

Alex nods thoughtfully. He doesn’t know nearly enough about medicine to even guess anything, but he wishes he could, because knowing could help saving other patients.

That would be something worthy of doing with his life.

_Maybe you are just more talented than the other healers._

He pointedly does not add a question mark to the end. He hasn’t met that many healers, but he is convinced there is something special about him.

Henry snorts, but even that sounds elegant. “I highly doubt that,” he says, but the tips of his ears are turning pink, again.

_I’m nauseated, is that normal or am I still in the realm of possibly dying?_

“It’s completely normal,” he assures quickly, and takes his medic bag from somewhere. He grabs multiple vials from it and places them carefully to the table. “I haven’t let you die prior to this and I’m planning to keep it that way.”

He makes it sound as if he could singlehandedly stop death if he wanted to. Alex almost wants to believe it.

Henry smiles at him as he hands him a vial of yellowish liquid and one of the green ones he has drunk several times by now. He accepts them, but scrunches his nose involuntarily as he examines the yellow thick liquid closer.

Henry lets out a small, surprised, laugh. “They will help with the nausea and pain,” he promises, as if it would make the liquids less disgusting.

He, probably unknowingly, makes it better because his laugh is bubbly and pure, and it is a beautiful sound and Alex is ready to do almost anything to hear it again.

He is sort of glad that he cannot talk because it also means he cannot accidently blurt out anything stupid about how much he adores his laugh.

He unscrews the cork of the first one and bravely drinks the vial empty with one long sip. He repeats the same process with the second one and shudders only a little when he returns the empty vials to Henry’s hands.

He rewards him, probably unknowingly again, with a bright smile. Alex thinks his smile might have healing properties, too.

He gives another cup of cold water, probably to help him to get rid off the bitter taste the medicines left in his mouth. “Are you hungry?”

To be honest, he hasn’t thought about food since he woke up, but as soon as he asks it, his stomach growls. He merely nods.

Henry pulls a cup of tomato soup somewhere and weirdly enough, the cup still feels warm against Alex’s hands.

He eats few spoons full of soup, before writing on the paper again. Henry yawns as he reads his new question.

_Have you slept at all?_

“I have, a little,” he confirms, but he looks like he hasn’t slept a wink for the past three days. “Your mother and sister have been here every day, and I’m going to make sure someone tells them that you’re awake and then I’m going home,” he says, and hastily adds, “if you don’t need anything else.”

The cup is small, so it doesn’t take him long to finish it. As soon as he gets rid of it, he writes a new message on the almost full paper.

_I’m fine, really. Go and sleep for like a day. And thank you. _

Henry stands up and gathers his belongings, mostly empty vials and bottles and stacks of paper, to his brown bag. He puts the bag down again, only to put his duvet in a better way, and picks it up. “I hope you feel better. If you start to feel ill again, ask for me.”

Alex nods lazily, feeling the exhaustion to set in again, and he waves at him. Either he falls asleep very quickly or Henry actually waves at him back.

***

Alex has been stuck in his room for days and he is slowly growing more and more anxious. It wasn’t as frustrating when he was still weak and bedridden after the influenza because he spent most of his days by sleeping and recovering.

But now he is feeling like himself again, and he has never been good at staying still and being idle. He needs something to do, but everyone around him is walking on eggshells with him, as if they feared he could drop dead at any given moment.

He has read books, attempted to do paperwork and reorganized all of his shelves and closets, but he wants to go outside. He wants to feel like he is a part of the world again and he wants to feel the cold breeze on his skin.

More than anything, he wants to see something else than grey stone walls.

So, in his opinion, he does the only logical thing, and attempts to sneak out at nightfall. He likes to think he is not being reckless, he is just desperate and anxious. To prove he is not being reckless and stupid, he grabs one of the thick and warmest blankets to keep him warm as he heads to the door, but at the same time there is a sudden sharp knock on it.

Either someone can read his mind, or someone has just atrocious timing. In any case, he opens the door.

He is greeted with the sight of startled looking Henry standing in the empty and dark hallway, without his medical bag.

“Henry,” Alex greets him as usually, and tries to contain his excitement of seeing him again, but he still flashes a brilliant smile at him. “I’m not in mortal peril, so what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I merely came to check up on you,” he replies, eyes darting between his face and the fluffy blanket. He looks a little constipated, as if he wanted to add the sir to the end, but he changes his mind at last moment, “Alex,” he says, instead.

There is something different about the way he says his name. Maybe it is his uncomfortableness using his first name, maybe it is the accent or maybe it is something completely different.

Alex likes the word maybe. It has potential, possibility and hope, and not an ounce of false hope and crushed dreams.

He, very pointedly, doesn’t mention that he doesn’t have his bag with him, because it brings immense joy to Alex that he came to see him, even when he didn’t have to. It ignites a spark in his chest and that spark makes him bold.

“I’m fine, obviously, after you healed me,” he tells him, sincerely, and clasps his free hand to his shoulder. His touch lingers slightly longer than necessary.

His eyes are bright, and he smiles, looking pleased with himself, even though he tries to hide it by biting down the smile. “Good. Were you heading out?”

Alex considers lying, but he has a feeling that Henry won’t rat out him to his mother. Besides, he has been honest with him about most things, so lying wouldn’t feel right. “Yeah, to the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, “to watch the stars. It’s a clear night.”

Star gazing is something he has done for years. Stars are beautiful and fiery, but still calm and enduring, and the distance always helps him put things into perspective.

He studies Henry, who doesn’t seem to be shocked by his explanation. If he didn’t know any better, he would say he looks disappointed.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks, before he even thinks about it. He probably should have thought about it more, but the question is already out and hangs heavily between them.

“I could,” he replies, eventually, after excruciating silence, with a soft voice, “only to keep an eye on you, so you don’t collapse or pass out,” he adds hastily.

It is exactly the kind of talk that has driven him up the wall for the past days and from anyone else it would sound patronizing, but Alex cannot be mad, because from Henry’s mouth it sounds caring and very much like an excuse.

“For security,” he concludes with a grin, as he hugs the blanket closer to his chest.

“For security,” he agrees, softly, but his eyes are shining with amusement.

Reaching the rooftop doesn’t take long because Alex knows the route as well as the back of his hand and Henry follows him effortlessly.

The mansion isn’t terribly high, only three floors, but it is still slightly higher than the surrounding buildings, making the rooftop also a good place to look over the city when the sun sets, but now it’s already completely dark.

He sits on the edge of it, on his usual spot, throwing his legs over the edge. Henry sits next to him and sighs deeply before looking up to the sky.

It’s a beautiful night. The stars are bright and the air is cold, but not freezing and it makes the air clear and brisk.

“Have you studied the constellations?”

He shakes his head. “No, I recognise the north star and I can point out Big Dipper, but that’s about it.”

Henry looks at him curiously. “Do you do this often?”

“Star gaze or bring people with me here?” He deadpans, without looking away from the stars.

“Both, I guess.”

“I come here often because I like looking at the stars, it helps me think, but you’re the only person who I’ve brought here,” he explains, occasionally glancing at him.

“Oh,” he says softly, and it sounds as if it escapes his lips involuntarily. “Why do you like it?”

“It reminds me that we’re really small and whatever problems we have, no matter how big they seem, they are pretty small and insignificant in comparison,” he attempts to explain, hoping he is making some sort of sense, “and that the world is wide and there are so many things we know nothing about.”

Henry looks as if he wanted to say something, but decides against it at the last moment. Instead, he nods, “I haven’t really thought it about that way. But I can see the appeal.”

“My dad taught it to me when he still lived with us. He lives on the other side of the country now,” he adds, even though he isn’t sure why he says it. He hasn’t really talked about the star gazing or his dad to anyone else than June and occasionally Nora.

“I’ve heard,” Henry says, casually, and Alex is once again reminded how big part of their lives is in the public domain.

But yet, he is also reminded how normal Henry makes him feel. He doesn’t make a big deal out of the nobility and he acts normally around him, if he doesn’t take into the account the compulsory need to call him sir.

He doesn’t seem to care about all that he knows things about his life just because certain aspects of his life are considered as news and he has probably heard more rumours about him and his family than he can count, but yet, he doesn’t seem to judge him or be prejudiced against him.

“It feels funny that you know all those things about me, but I barely know anything about you,” he says it gently, as a way of pointing a fact, and not in accusatory way.

Henry chuckles and stares at his shoes. “There’s not much to know about me.”

Alex rolls his eyes fondly. He doesn’t know how to tell him that he finds everything about him interesting. “What about your family?”

“My mom is a scholar, Bea works in the administration and Philip is in the army. Dad used to be performer.”

“Used to be?” Alex blurts out.

“He died,” he says it towards the sky. “Years ago. An illness that no one could heal.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alex says sincerely, feeling idiotic about feeling sorrow about his dad living on the other side of country, while Henry’s dad is permanently gone. “Is that why you wanted to be a healer?” He asks, carefully.

“Partly, yes,” he tells him with a smile that is mostly full of sorrow. He looks away from him, and he seems to stare the wall of the building on the opposite side of the street, but it might be he is just blinking away tears. It is too dark to see anyway.

Yet, he sees how he shivers in the cold night. He curses himself for not realising he might be cold, because he is completely fine buried in his blanket. He grabs the other edge of the blanket and awkwardly throws it so that it covers Henry’s back, too.

He suddenly looks at him little wearily.

“It’s a big blanket,” he explains, and Henry apparently accepts the reason because he scoots closer to him and wraps the blanket more tightly around them.

They stay quiet for a moment, and it’s a comfortable kind of silence, and it is only broken when Alex gets startled by particularly large pigeon. After that, they talk about all sort of things, quietly laughing and confessing things in the dark.

Henry talks about his job and dog. They share funny anecdotes and tell each other their likes and dislikes, fears and dreams, and generally whatever comes to mind. He cannot remember the last time he has laughed so hard, genuinely and lot.

He loses the track of time completely and realises it only when he sees Henry attempting to suppress two yawns in a row.

“We should go,” he says, nudging his side, as he stands up.

“I had fun,” Henry says with a genuine smile as he tries to straighten his trousers.

“Yeah, so did I,” he agrees and throws the blanket towards his face, making it land on his head, covering his face partly and making him shake with laughter again.

***

“Say that again, please,” Henry pleads, and he tries to seem professional, but he looks as if he could burst out laughing at any point.

“I got attacked by turkey,” Alex deadpans, from the chair, and glances at him. “It’s not nearly as funny when it actually happens.”

“How does one even get attacked by turkey?” He asks, as he places his medic bag on Alex’s bed.

“Quite easily,” he huffs, “one of our turkeys escaped our grounds and I tried to catch it and I had it almost in my arms when the bastard decided to make a run for it and kicked me in the stomach.”

Henry sounds as if he was suffocating, but Alex guesses he is only laughing at his misery.

“Sorry,” he says, and has the decency to even fake cough, but he is still grinning, “so the stomach hurts?”

Alex nods and lifts the hem of his shirt. Henry crouches down and looks at it more carefully. He looks focused and his hands feel hot against his stomach and Alex is glad he cannot see how red his cheeks are turning.

“There definitely is a mark,” he concludes, “a small scratch.” He reaches for the nearby table for a cloth and vase of clean water. He wets the cloth and presses it against his lower stomach. Alex thinks he is going to pass out or die of a heart attack.

“Great, I got clawed by a turkey,” he deadpans, to ease the tension he is creating with his pathetic crush and pining.

“That is one way to say it, but it’s a bit dramatic,” he points out, taking the cloth away, “I don’t think it needs bandages.”

Alex lets the hem of the shirt fall down. “Thank you.”

He smiles at him, amusedly, but almost fondly, too. He holds his bag with both hands. “It’s always nice to see you, but can we agree that no more bird related accidents?”

Alex laughs, but it ends up in a grunt because the scratch starts to sting. “It’s good to live in hope.”

***

“I’m sorry I called you here,” Alex mumbles immediately when Henry arrives in his chambers two weeks later. He is sitting on his unmade bed and hugs his knees closer to his chest.

Henry doesn’t seem irritated or exasperated and he definitely doesn’t turn around and leave the room immediately. Instead, his smile looks gentle and empathetic as he sits close to him. “What is wrong?”

Alex shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t know,” he replies honestly, and makes a vague gesture with his hand. “I feel weird.”

Henry doesn’t laugh or tell him that he is being ridiculous. He rummages through his brown bag and pulls a pen and paper from there. He looks at him the way he always looks at him when he is trying to figure out what is wrong and how to treat it. His gaze is full of focus and it is intense, as if he was the only person in the world he currently cared about.

He writes something on the paper and glances at him again. “Have you hit your head?”

“No,” he shakes his head. Truth to be told, he has barely left his room during the day.

“You probably haven’t been drinking either?” Henry asks, already making more notes.

“No, but this restlessness is making me want to drink,” he huffs and starts to pluck the fabric of the duvet.

He gives him a strange look, but he says nothing. He puts the back of his hand against his forehead for a moment. “You don’t have fever. Does your head hurt?”

“A bit,” he admits, “I cannot really focus on anything.”

He isn’t certain if the headache is causing the inability to focus or if the headache is side product of his annoyance.

Henry hums and writes some more. “Any other symptoms?”

Alex takes a deep breath and takes his pillow into his lap and hugs it. “I feel sort of anxious? Restless. Irritated. My legs are tingling too, as if I couldn’t stay still. I don’t know.”

Henry writes more notes down. “As far as I can tell there is nothing wrong with you,” he says, slowly, but kindly.

Alex bites his lower lip and stares at the pillow. He was sort of expecting that answer. He doesn’t really even know why he called him there in the first place. He knew he couldn’t help him, medically at least. But maybe he had hope that seeing Henry would still help him, make him feel better.

He half-expects him to give him a lecture about how he shouldn’t waste his time, calling him for pointless house visits.

“But not all of the illnesses are physical,” he eventually adds, looking pointedly at him.

Alex snorts, joylessly. “Is your official diagnosis that I’m going crazy?”

“Alex,” he says, quietly, but in a way that makes him look at him, “not all of the trouble of the soul and mind is being mad. There are different kind of troubles, manifesting in different ways.”

Alex is still biting his lip, trying to decide how to respond. It is not the first time he has felt this way, sometimes the feeling is stronger, sometimes weaker, but this is the first time he has ever asked help for it.

Henry straightens his back and tilts his head to the side, curiosity shining from his eyes. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

He shakes his head.

“There are days when I don’t want to talk to anyone. I push my loved ones away and I just want to be alone and not leave my bed,” he confesses, holding his gaze, “unfortunately there is very little that we can do for your trouble or mine. There will be good days and bad days, but sometimes it helps just to know that it is real even if it is invisible.”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes out, little unevenly, feeling as if Henry could see right through him. It’s a little unnerving.

He reaches for his bag and this time he pulls out a small bottle full of light purple liquid. “This should help with the nerves and make sleeping easier.”

This time, Alex doesn’t even complain or shudder at the thought of drinking one of his horrible tasting medicines, but drinks the bottle empty quickly and tries his best not to think about the taste.

The other corner of Henry’s mouth twitches into a soft smile and he accepts the empty bottle wordlessly.

Alex falls on his back with a grunt, closing his eyes and imagining that he feels tired, but nothing happens. He opens his other eye to look at Henry. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

“Nothing was wasted,” he assures, “seeing you is never the worst part of my day.”

Alex eyes are closed again, he is trying his best to welcome sleep or any sleep-like condition but hearing that makes wave of warmth spread in his chest and he smiles. “Same.”

When he wakes up hours later, Henry is gone, but he spots a yellowish paper folded in two. He picks it up and notices that his name is written on the other side of it with elegant and narrow handwriting.

He smiles to himself, as he folds the paper open and reads the text inside of it.

_Noncomprehensive list of things Alex should avoid_

_1) pointy ends of swords_  
2) horses that are running towards him  
3) mirrors that are being carried  
4) whatever place he got that next plague from  
5) <strike>turkeys </strike> all types of birds  
6) thinking that he is wasting my time

He chuckles as he reaches the end of it, and then he reads it twice more, and the feeling of warmth returns to his chest and something flutters in his stomach.

***

The thing is that Alex adores Nora. He loves her. She is one of the best and oldest friends he has, and he loves spending time with her and June. They used to be inseparable when they were young and growing up, doing everything together, but then she and her parents moved to another town.

They are still close, but her visits are infrequent, and sometimes rare, as she is making a career in both administration in financial department and as a clairvoyant. It is an odd combination of careers, and he has told her that many times, but she insists that her gift of clairvoyance shouldn’t define her life, and she happens to be good with numbers.

Alex would be lying if he said that her gift wasn’t at all unnerving, but he has gotten used to it. No one can explain it and she had it already when they were children, and it is a packet deal, being friends with her and getting occasionally told his future or something about his aura. And he likes it that way.

He has missed her a lot, and so has June, and they are both impatiently waiting her to arrive, outside their home, even though it is pouring down.

Soon enough, her carriage comes behind the corner, and stops right in front of their door. Nora barely makes it out of the carriage before Alex gives him soul crushingly tight hug.

“Ouch, hey, Alex,” she greets him and hugs him back as tightly, even though he is already soaking wet. “You’ve been playing with magic, I see,” she adds, sounding amused.

Alex is sure he misheard her, and he pulls away from the hug. “What?”

“It’s all over you. On your head, stomach, arms, leg, and it’s bright, golden and pure, and really beautiful but there’s an abundance of it. It covers your whole aura,” she explains with a bright smile, even though her hair is sticking to her face because of the rain.

He hears her, but it takes him a moment to comprehend it. He cannot recall coming into touch with magic lately.

It takes him a moment longer to connect the dots, before it hits him.

_Henry._

The realisation makes his ears ring and his whole world tilt.

He is barely aware that he steps further away, and that June and Nora are now having their enthusiastic reunion hug. He knows he smiles when the girls ask if everything is okay, but his mind cannot focus on anything else than Henry and magic, magic and Henry.

Going back in and eating lunch goes by as if he was in mist or haze. He is there, but his mind isn’t. His stomach feels hollow and there is a strong sense of betrayal growing inside of him and it is very quickly turning into pure and burning anger.

He tries to talk with others during the lunch, he makes jokes and laughs, but he cannot concentrate. As soon as he has the opportunity, he excuses himself from the table, and tells one of the servants to call Henry to his chambers.

He looks mildly panicked, most likely thinking he ate something spoilt or inappropriate that didn’t agree with his stomach.

He retrieves into his room, but he merely keeps pacing around in it, as if it somehow helped him to think. Truth to be told, he cannot think straight. His thoughts are clouded by anger and hurt, and he definitely doesn’t know what he is going to say to him.

He hasn’t thought about it that far.

Distinctively, he knows he should calm down and confront him later, but the other part of his brain screams that they are friends and he trusted Henry, that he hasn’t been nothing but honest with him.

Well, the last part is not completely true, but at least his secrets are not hurting or affecting anyone.

Somewhere deep down, he knows that Henry probably wouldn’t ever hurt him or anyone else with his magic, but logic is buried down under his senseless anger.

Magic isn’t necessarily bad, he knows it, but it is rare. The closest he has ever gotten to magic before him is Nora, and he isn’t sure if her gifts can be counted as magic. Many people don’t like magic, they fear it and think it is unnatural and abomination. There are strong prejudices and Alex is keenly aware that there is some sort of registration for people who have magic, but it is strict and restricts their lives a lot.

The door finally opens and Henry steps in, smiling warmly at him.

Alex is not sure what he expected to happen when he finally saw him. He sort of hoped his anger would have faded away, but it is almost the opposite. It only burns hotter when he sees his smile.

He ends up pointing at him. “You—magic,” is all he is able to say, which isn’t at all as eloquent as he hoped, but it seems to do the trick.

Henry’s posture goes rigid. The smile is gone on an instant and he looks crestfallen, as he stares at the floor and squeezes the handle of his bag so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

“You didn’t tell me,” Alex hisses, but he sounds a lot calmer than he does in his head. Yet, his voice is cold and almost poisonous.

Henry stays infuriatingly silent, as he presses his lips into a thin line and refuses to meet his gaze.

“I thought we were--,” Alex starts, but he doesn’t know how to end the sentence. Friends? Becoming something more? He guesses it is pointless now. Some logical part of him tries to remind himself that it is still Henry, his Henry, who has been nothing but good and kind to him, but rage and sense of betrayal have him on chokehold.

Henry opens his mouth, but Alex doesn’t want to hear it, so he just continues speaking. “You used it on me without my knowledge,” he accuses.

“I-,” Henry tries again, but Alex waves his hand dismissively.

“Just go away. I don’t want to see you,” he says, rudely, but all of the heat is gone out of his voice. He turns around to look out of the window, so he doesn’t have to see his face or the expression on it, but he hears how the door open and closes and it sort of breaks his heart.

***

Alex naively thought that confronting him and yelling at him would make him feel better, but in reality, it made him feel even worse.

He doesn’t hate Henry and the anger has evaporated, and turned into bottomless sadness, but he most definitely loathes himself for being a dick. He didn’t even give him a chance to explain, but just threw him out.

It has been three days, and honestly, he sort of misses Henry, too. He misses whatever thing, friendship, they had developed during all these months.

He spends all of his time with Nora and June, so that he wouldn’t have to think about him, but his plan fails spectacularly, because turns out he and the fight are all he is able to think about. Everything reminds him of Henry.

Turns out his internal suffering and miserableness manifests itself in moping, because when Nora leaves, she hugs her tight and tells to get his shit to together. His aura doesn’t look good when miserable is mixed all of that beautiful pure magic.

He sort of ignores her advice and June’s repetitive questions if he is okay. He wants to make things better, but he thinks it might be too late for that. Henry probably, with all justification, hates him.

But when he catches himself reading Henry’s list for fifth time in a row, a week after the mess he made, he decides to do something about it.

He has no proper plan, but he guesses he has nothing to lose, anyway. But he does have something to gain if he ends up forgiving him.

Finding out his last name and where he lives is a lot easier and quicker than he expected, so he ends up behind a wooden door of a small house in the outskirts of the city next morning, ready to knock on it.

He paces a bit in front of the door before he does knock on it, before he loses all of the courage he has tried to summon during the morning.

He sort of hopes he isn’t at home and he can return home without feeling like a massive coward.

He has no such luck, because Henry opens the door almost immediately. If he wasn’t paralysed with fear and anxiety, he might have found the situation funny. Henry’s hair is a mess, sticking to different directions, and he is wearing pyjamas, and generally looking as if he just woke up, but his eyes are wide and shining with fresh panic.

Alex can only guess that he is mirroring his expression, and that he probably should have checked the time before he left for his apology mission.

“Hi,” he ends up saying, only slightly awkwardly.

That seems to startle Henry out of his thoughts. He steps away from the door, but leaves it open. “Please, come in, sir.”

Alex feels almost nauseated when he calls him a sir again, and he shoots a sideway glance at him as he steps in, but he guesses he has deserved it.

He looks around himself, to avoid actual eye contact with him. His house is tiny, but cosy. None of the colours truly match, the armchair is deep brown, the bookcase is yellowish, and the carpet is bright red, but he still likes the place immediately.

It reminds him of Henry.

Henry is suppressing a yawn, as he leans to the kitchen counter behind him.

“Is it really early?” Alex blurts out, because as he realised that he doesn’t know the time, it started to bother him, and Henry looks exhausted.

“A little bit after five, sir,” Henry informs him blankly with a monotone voice.

“Yes, sorry, I didn’t sleep at all,” Alex babbles on, “but that’s what I came here to do, to apologize.”

Henry blinks slowly few times. “What?”

Alex presses his thumb against his other hand’s palm and starts to talk, way too quickly. “I might have overreacted earlier and been a colossal asshole, and I really do understand if you by this point already hate me and never want to see me again, but I wanted to say I’m sorry for all of it. I just hate being lied to and it made me not think clearly.”

_Because I have developed a massive crush on you _is a part he gladly leaves out.

Henry looks at him, perplexed. “You are not going to report me?”

Alex shakes his head furiously. “No, that was never even my plan. And I have no problem with the magic part, just that you didn’t tell me.”

It breaks his heart that Henry thought he would do something like that to him. He knows he has grounds for reporting him or even filing charges against him, but still, he would never be that cruel.

He nods, looking remorseful. “I owe you an apology, too. For not telling you.”

“Apology accepted,” Alex replies, almost immediately, because in his heart, he had already forgiven him days ago.

Henry smiles, little ruefully, and points at the chairs around the table. “Sit, if you want. Do you want tea?”

“If it tastes better than your medicines,” Alex shoots back as he sits near the window.

Henry chuckles as he pours hot water into mug and adds some leaves into it. “The medicines were fake. They didn’t really affect in any way.”

“What?”

Henry places the mug in front of him. “I had to have some explanation why your pain went away. I couldn’t have claimed that my mere presence had healing properties.”

Alex just stares at him. “True, but those were horrible, and you are telling me I suffered through all of that for nothing?”

“Basically,” he confirms as he sips his tea carefully.

“I hate you,” he replies, fondly.

Henry only hums into his mug.

“And I sort of understand why you didn’t tell me. It’s probably a big secret to live with and not easy to tell,” he says, slowly, hoping that he is choosing the right words.

“I almost told you,” he admits, “on the rooftop.”

“Oh.”

“The only reason I didn’t was because I didn’t want to burden you with it,” he stares at the mug between his palms.

“It’s not a burden, and your secret is definitely safe with me,” he reassures hastily.

“I also want you to know that I only ever used magic to heal you, because I knew it would help. Make you feel better, keep you alive,” he explains, with tiniest of smiles.

“That’s very sweet and I’m grateful for it, too.”

He knew there was something odd about him surviving the influenza, but he didn’t imagine that it was Henry who literally kept him alive. No wonder he looked so exhausted.

He desperately needs to think about something else than that because it is doing unfair things to his heart. “Your house is nice.”

“My friend Pez owns it but he lives overseas most of the time, so he lets me use it,” he explains, and he seems happy as he mentions his name.

A comfortable silence falls between them, as they just occasionally sip and drink their tea.

Henry opens his mouth but the abruptly closes it again. “How did you find out?”

He chuckles. “Nora told me that my aura is completely covered by someone’s beautiful, pure and bright magic. It wasn’t really hard to connect the dots after that.”

Henry smiles into his mug, and the tip of his ears are turning slightly pink, again. “Sorry,” he says, but it sounds like he doesn’t mean it at all.

“I don’t mind,” Alex’s smile is crooked. “Is everything good between us?”

“Most definitely,” he confirms with a brilliant smile that is almost as bright as the morning sun, “more tea?”

***

“How is it possible to get accidently _shot_?” Henry demands, as he is on his knees, next to his bed, looking at the gun shot wound on Alex’s thigh.

It’s luckily small, but still bleeding through all of the bandages and the bullet is still somewhere inside his thigh.

“Easily,” Alex replies, as he lies down and stares at the ceiling, “I was walking past the king’s guard and they were doing that thing where they switch the patrols and someone’s gun accidently fired, and next thing I know is that I’m on ground with a wound on my leg.”

“Only you,” Henry mutters, but he sounds fond, as he tears the hole on his pants bigger so that he can see the wound better.

He glances at Alex and waves his hand vaguely. “Do you mind if I--?”

“Not at all,” he replies, without missing a beat.

Henry places his right hand against the injured leg. He closes his eyes and suddenly Alex’s leg feels warm and then nothing. It’s completely numb, and all of the throbbing pain is gone. He sees from the corner of his eye that Henry’s hand hover above his leg, but he has no idea what he is doing.

Still, soon enough, Henry’s holding a tiny silver bullet between his fingers. He hands it to Alex, and places his hands against his thigh again, and more waves of warmth hit his leg. Alex props himself on his elbows and glances at the wound, that is now almost gone.

Henry is still wrapping some bandages over it, but Alex thinks it is only for the show.

“You tell me you have been able to do that all this time?” He deadpans, his eyes darting between his hands and face.

“Maybe,” he replies slyly as he gathers some of his supplies to the bag.

“And you still didn’t heal my turkey wound,” he says with mock accusation, laughing now, and nudging his arm.

“That was a scratch,” he points out very unhelpfully, as he looks around. “Where’s the list? I’m going to add somethings to it.”

Alex sits up and easily reaches to his nightstand drawer and pulls the paper out. Henry takes it immediately and starts to write.

He hands it back to him after few minutes. He has added to new points, making the paper almost full by now.

_7) Firearms  
8) Possibly king’s guard?_

Henry sits on the edge of the bed, even though there barely is any room left. He grins. “I think we’re going to need more paper.”

Alex doesn’t know what takes over him. Maybe it is the euphoric feeling of not having pains anymore. Maybe he just lost a lot of blood. Maybe it is the fact that Henry is sitting so close to him that he can practically feel the warmth of his body. Maybe it is the way he grins at him, gladly, genuinely and wildly.

Whatever it is, it still makes him cross the short distance between them and kiss him.

It’s a fumbling kiss, it is awkward in a way that all first kisses are awkward. Their lips pressing together, softly and slowly, discovering something new. His lips are soft and warm against his, but completely still, and Alex distantly thinks that this was a mistake, but then inexplicably, he kisses him back.

The kiss gets better after that, it is no longer fumbling, but hungrier and wanting. It’s greedy in a way that all new things are, because one is afraid it will stop, and one cannot get enough of it. Alex is aware that Henry has his hand in his neck, holding his head gently, as if it was something precious.

The kiss is intoxicating, and it is fills up all of his senses and it consumes his mind and soul.

Henry eventually pulls away, slightly, and he has moved onto the bed, so that he is half lying on top of him. He breathes heavily and Alex tries to catch his breath, too.

“So that’s a thing that happened,” he whispers.

“Yes,” Henry agrees.

It definitely isn’t the most intelligent conversation they have had.

“I--,” Henry starts, but Alex, accidently, talks over him.

“I guess-.”

They chuckle, and Alex marvels at the fact that nothing seems to have changed between them. It doesn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, just _right_.

“You first,” Alex says, and pokes him gently in the bicep.

He lets out a breath as if he was nervous. “I just wanted to say that my magic has no part in this, it can only heal, not control people’s feelings--.”

Alex blinks, confusedly, until he realises what Henry is trying to explain with his too rapid speaking pace. He gently grabs his chin and turns his head slightly, so that he can look him in the eyes. “Henry, I know. The thought of that never even crossed my mind.”

He seems to visibly relax. He breathes out. “Good, good.”

Alex grins and bites his lower lip. “I guess this is a good time to confess that I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time.”

Henry looks definitely pleased. “How long?”

“About since we met, give or take,” Alex whispers, mostly against his neck.

“That long?” He sounds almost surprised.

“Hmm,” he agrees, surprisingly not feeling at all embarrassed, and he runs his fingers against his jawline. “That long.”

“I have wanted you, too,” he confesses quietly, “if it wasn’t completely clear already.”

“Long?” Alex deadpans, looking at him again. His eyes have never looked as beautiful as they do now, full of longing and wanting.

“Yes, definitely,” he agrees almost desperately, and changes his position so that he lies completely on top of him and there is no inch of space between their bodies.

Alex kisses him just because he can, and he wants to. It is an addictive realisation. Henry definitely is into it too, but he abruptly pulls back.

“I really must, as a healer, advice to avoid any physical stress after getting shot--,”

Alex kisses him again. “Henry, shut up. You healed it already and I’m going to take my chances with this one,” he says, quickly, against his lips and pulls him into another kiss.

***

Henry left in the morning, because he actually has to work, and he has other patients, but patience has never been Alex’s virtue and he filed a non-urgent need for a healer.

It takes a couple of hours before confused looking Henry appears into his room.

“You called?” He asks, a little uncertainly, as he closes the door behind him. He looks as if he was bracing himself for hearing bad news or something equally terrible.

“Yeah, nothing bad, but I have a paper cut,” Alex declares with a shit-eating grin, and shows his right little finger and the tiny cut he has on it.

Henry looks still perpetually perplexed, but he walks up to him and takes his little finger into his hands, and actually examines the cut. He brushes his thumb over it and the cut disappears immediately. He looks up to his face with mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Seriously?”

Alex hums happily. “Maybe you should go to a real date with me so I wouldn’t need to come up with ridiculous reasons to see your face,” he says, and admittedly it sounded better and smoother in his head.

“A date?” He asks, echoing him, as he still holds his hand.

“Yeah, what did you think? That I was going to only fool around with you and toss you away when I got bored?”

Something suspiciously lot like embarrassment flickers in his eyes.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Alex declares, softly, “because I’m all in.”

Alex thinks that asking him on a date is the best decision he has made in a while, and that he doesn’t mind spending possibly rest of his life proving to Henry that he is the best decision he has made.

A smile spreads on Henry’s face. It’s a beatific smile and it lights up his face. He lifts Alex’s hand slightly and gently kisses his knuckles. “So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is sort of from a finnish song called "hetkeksi" by younghearted. It's basically about wanting someone you like to stay a moment longer (hetkeksi) and I thought it fit this one well. All of the mistakes, plotholes and that kind of stuff is mine and there probably are some because I proofread this by myself and I'm probably blind to all of my mistakes. This is also the first fic for rw&rb fandom that I'm publishing!


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